


Eichenwalde Exhumed

by CapriciousKapro



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Character Study, Eichenwalde (Overwatch), Gen, POV Tekhartha Zenyatta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:14:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27391777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapriciousKapro/pseuds/CapriciousKapro
Summary: A short character study of Zenyatta visiting Eichenwalde.
Kudos: 4





	Eichenwalde Exhumed

A quiet mission, a small team.

It was not long after settling into the base he now calls home that people opened up to him about their desires, and Reinhardt was quick to warm, like a dwindling fire that only needed a touch to reignite. Zenyatta does not know if he is the first to hear of the man’s wish to return to his home and retrieve his master’s armor, but he is first to encourage the notion.

“Why not ask Winston? Surely he would not deny you this,” Zenyatta says with a gentling palm against Reinhardt’s arm. “Your desire is understandable, and our numbers grow every week. It would be no hardship to send a team in to assist, and I would gladly accompany you.”

The man stares at him as if he had grown a second head (or set of arms, perhaps) before lighting up, a great roaring blaze of energy and exuberance. The lively motions sent dregs of tea sloshing in his abandoned mug, and Zenyatta chuckles at the swift departure while clearing the table, retreating to the kitchen. Winston would not be up at the late hour, but would Reinhardt notice before knocking on his door loud enough to wake the dead?

Not a week later, Reinhardt claps him on the back and announces he and Winston will move the armor with Lena as their pilot and Zenyatta as the moral support should he wish it.

“It is not necessary,” he offers hesitantly, “but your company would be most welcome. I have not seen my home in many years, and it would be good to have a friend at my side.”

Zenyatta tilts his faceplate up, forehead array flashing in a smile. He was, of course, willing to help Reinhardt with his task—the mission being his suggestion, after all. But more, he felt a sense of belonging. Genji may have been his only tether to the organization at the start, but every day drew him closer to his teammates. To be called friend so plainly, and to know his presence was simply  _wanted_ sent warmth blossoming through his chest.

“I would be honored to visit a place of such importance to you, and to see where you call home,” he says, delight and fondness coloring his voice. Reinhardt scoops him into a hug, feet lifting off the ground. Zenyatta’s synth falls into laughter, joy bubbling up from his core and demanding expression. It is good to have teammates such as this, friendship as easy between them as following the currents of a river.

Reinhardt thanks him profusely (though Zenyatta already sees the gratitude alight in crinkled eyes, sees it in how freely he shares his vibrant, physical affections) and sets off to tell Winston the news.

That is how Zenyatta finds himself nestled among the tall grasses of Germany, free to roam while the crusader and scientist pull the ancient armor out from its mournful throne.

The sun gleams brilliantly, the treeline thinned near the town and sparking bright against the metal littering the battlefield. His footsteps fuss the otherwise undisturbed, overgrown path, grass bending under his weight then springing back as he passes. Grasshoppers leap away, each bound carrying them across impressive distances. A ladybug swims in front of his faceplate and lands for but a moment on his cheek. Zenyatta freezes, wishing he could admire the small creature, but allows it to track thin legs across his face before taking flight on the next cool breeze.

Another flash, sunlight against metal peaking through wind-ruffled grass, and Zenyatta cannot help but let his feet carry him forward.

It is one thing to know, he muses, kneeling at the dilapidated remains of a bastion unit. One to know and another to behold. Brushing fingers across soft blue-dotted-yellow forget-me-nots seeded between unyielding metal, he wonders how the battles here played out. Wonders if these omnics could have been his siblings in another age, had things gone differently. He thinks of his siblings at the monastery, from all walks of life, all makes and models, and his core aches because he knows the answer even if he does not wish to.

He is glad he is alone. Zenyatta mourns for Reinhardt’s loss, but that is not the only loss this land has seen, and these omnics deserve peace.

Zenyatta clasps his hands and prays.


End file.
